14. Kingston #3
Kingston scowled and released Evans from his grip. “No. Just you, apparently.”
They were still wearing their smelly gear and damp with sweat, and Evans was lacking soft curves, and his stubble had scraped when they kissed, but—
Kingston had liked it. A lot.
“You hate me,” Evans said, like it wasn’t the most obvious fact in the world.
“Don’t think I can hate you and want to kiss you at the same time?” Kingston grumbled, and a thrill of something went through him when Evans’s gaze dipped down to his mouth.
“I’m not—” Evans dragged his eyes back up, only for them to fall again. “Oh shit.”
Kingston jumped when hands grabbed his waist and spun them around. He didn’t have skate guards on, and the floor nearly slipped out from under him as Evans pinned him in place and took his mouth.
And holy fuck—what were they doing?!
Their teammates or staff members could walk in at any moment, and Kingston’s skates were tangled with Evans’s, threatening to send him off-balance, but the kiss.
Evans caught one of Kingston’s arms and guided it up onto his shoulder, a silent demand for him to take the hint and hook it around his neck and brace himself.
He never broke the kiss, tongue sliding insistently into Kingston’s mouth, stealing breath through muttered curses and low growls of frustration.
Evans kissed the way he played with Kingston on the ice. He challenged and provoked, daring Kingston to either pull away or give in, knowing full well which choice he’d make.
Refusing to yield, Kingston bit down just enough to make a point, then softened it immediately, breath ghosting over Evans’s mouth as if daring him to decide whether this was a fight or something else entirely.
Evans swore into the kiss, hauling Kingston closer with a rough, frustrated sound that echoed off the stall walls and sent shivers racing along his skin.
For a heartbeat, it was heated as they tried to outdo each other, but then Evans broke the kiss with a sharp inhale. Kingston watched his jaw tighten, as if he were wrestling himself back under control.
“This is a bad idea,” Evans muttered.
Kingston huffed a breathless laugh, thumbs digging into broad shoulders. “You could have punched me in the face and walked out of here, but you didn’t.”
Evans didn’t argue. He just stayed there, holding Kingston while looking like a man who was reevaluating every life decision he’d made up to that point.
“I don’t like guys,” Evans said finally. “Not like this.”
Kingston scowled and hurried to get his skates under him so he could push Evans away. “I guess that makes two of us. Fucking asshole.”
Evans didn’t leave, but he would have to soon unless they wanted to get caught. He was staring at Kingston in a way that had lust instantly switch to anger, fueling the urge to punch him again.
“I’m glad I could be a safe space to help you figure that out,” Evans continued, oblivious to how quickly Kingston’s anger was growing. “I could have gone without being choked, but if you’re sure of yourself now, I guess I’ll let it slide.”
“Sure of myself?” Kingston asked, rage darkening his words. “You think one shitty kiss was all I needed to figure things out?”
Evans backed away with wide eyes, which was a good idea because Kingston didn’t trust his temper right now.
“Do us both a favour and visit your friends tonight,” said Kingston, shoving past Evans and cursing when his skates slipped. “I’m tired of looking at your stupid face. It makes me want to rearrange it with my fist.”
He stormed out of the stall not a moment too soon, because he could hear his teammates approaching through the chute. Kingston kept his expression as neutral as he could while he fell onto the bench and began untying his skates.
After all that, he had walked away with a bruised ego, dull blades and no fucking clue what his sexuality was.
Maybe it wasn’t his sexuality he was confused about. So he found guys hot enough to kiss; that wasn’t a big deal. He was more worried about why he wanted to kiss one specific guy.
Riley Evans.
“You’re so useless. Dumb brain,” Sloan grumbled.
“What are you mumbling about?” Dylan Carr asked, bumping shoulders with him—and then pausing. “Dude. Why are your lips so swollen and bloody? Did Evans finally punch you in the mouth?”
Kingston tore off his jersey and whipped Carr in the face with it. “Suck my dick.”
Carr spluttered and ripped the damp jersey from Kingston’s hands, glowering at him. “I’m not sucking anything with that kind of attitude.”
Kingston made the mistake of glancing up, meeting Evans’s concerned gaze from across the locker room.
Ignoring the sharp pain of bitterness throbbing between his ribs, Kingston looked away and continued removing his gear. The sooner he was away from Evans, the better. He needed time to nurse his pride—and time to take care of his stupid dick that hadn’t been listening when Evans rejected them.
Kingston didn’t want to, but he was starting to think it was time to call Allen Monroe. And if he couldn’t help him…
…he was quitting the NHL and moving back to Edmonton.